


A New Beginning

by SquishySterek (Herm_own_ninny)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Medical Procedures, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Burn, Violence, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-11 20:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19117216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herm_own_ninny/pseuds/SquishySterek
Summary: The dropship landed with two kids dead on impact. The 100 were already The 98, and they hadn't even stepped foot on the ground outside, let alone opened the door.The Ark's experiment was already off to a bad start, what else could possibly go wrong?No bracelets to monitor vitals, a few skips and removals of scenes I didn't really care for.How big of an impact could Stiles and Peter have had on the fate of The 100 if they'd landed with them?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambersagen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen/gifts).



> Hi, loves! I had the hardest time trying to put all of this together. I didn't want to follow the plot the show gives too strictly, and I know in the end you may hate me for how I leave off.
> 
> A quick bit of housekeeping, however -  
> Each chapter will have specific warnings at the top in these notes right here. Some chapter will get a bit "messy", and I will do my best to properly tag each chapter thoroughly so you know what you're getting into.(also any amount of time passing will be noted)  
> Also! It is a divergence from Canon, so I know several things will be "inaccurate" if you've seen the show. Just sit back and revel in what could've happened, had Stiles and Peter been on the drop ship.
> 
> My artist's art will be inserted in the chapters relevant to their appearance. I hope you enjoy those little treats, I absolutely love what was done! ♥
> 
> Please, sit back, relax, and enjoy the mess that I somehow managed to put into words for the rest of you to enjoy.  
> \- J.M.O.
> 
>  
> 
> ° ° ° ° °
> 
>  
> 
>  **Chapter specific warnings:**  
>  Death, dead bodies, mentions of parental death, death by fire, emotional numbness
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://ambersagen.tumblr.com/post/185665515814/a-new-beginning-fic-by-squishysterek-art-by)

Stiles couldn't shake the image of the two boys that had died during the landing out of his head. They'd fallen right in front of him, the sound of the brunette's neck snapping something that will haunt him for ages, or maybe a couple of minutes until the radiation kills him. Nobody was sure the planet was livable again. Some commotion that was happening at the front broke his train of thought and then light flooded in as the landing door flopped open. Stiles grimaced and shook his head, deciding he needed to get out now in case he did die. Because if he did, it absolutely was not going to be strapped to some dingy old seat in a beaten up ship that had crashed on to the Earth's surface. He wasn't going to die tethered to something created by the same people who floated his father for using more than the allotted blood and anesthesia on his mother for a life saving procedure, and then later let her die because "too many resources had already been wasted".  
With a scowl and new anger flowing through his veins Stiles clicked open his seatbelt, ignored the soft crunch as he undoubtedly broke a rib or two of the already dead boy that was on the ground in front of his seat. There was another boy still on the ship. He was standing at the exit door, shoulders tense as he looked outside. Stiles stepped up even with him, taking in a deep breath.  
The air felt different, not cycled and stale. It almost had a taste, not one he could name or recognize, but one he'd be happy to get used to. "You scared, too?"  
"Maybe."  
"Wouldn't you rather die with your feet on the ground than on the ship of the people who imprisoned us?"  
"Sounds like a good idea when you put it like that."  
"Wanna step off together?" Stiles asked softly, finally looking over at the boy. He had a large scar running across his face. One of his brows was cut in two, the shiny flesh breaking through the hair that Stiles assumed used to be there. He knew the story of this boy.  
"You're Peter Hale."  
A small scowl and a nod as baby blues finally met Stiles' gaze. "You're Stilinski. Not sure I can pronounce your first name right."  
"Hard not to know the orphan that got locked up because he couldn't sit still," Stiles shrugged, then offered a fake, blinding smile to Peter. "Ready to join the other imbeciles on actual ground, Scarface?"  
"Haven't heard that one, before," Peter muttered, rolling his eyes before turning back to look at their surroundings.  
Stiles smirked and they both took a deep breath before stepping off together. There was already a commotion off to the side and they shared a look before making their way over, sticking close to each other as they climbed a small little overhang to be able to look down and have a clear view of the situation.  
The Chancellor's son and the blonde one - Stiles couldn't remember her name, just that she was one of the privileged that would've been pardoned when she turned eighteen - were in a circle yelling with some dude that definitely was not their age. Clarke - that was her name! - had been left in solitary and wasn't even allowed to talk to her guards, it was no surprise she was in the middle of a conflict. No human contact for four years could do that to someone.  
He looked over at Peter, who was already seemingly bored with the situation and looking around at their surroundings, sighing softly. "Wanna go explore?"  
Peter blinked slowly and turned to look at Stiles. "Why not? Isn't there a thing people used to say… the buddy system? Old Earth videos said to never go exploring without a buddy."  
Stiles laughed quietly and nodded, taking Peter's hand and helping him to his feet. "Yeah, sure. Or it's just smart to never go somewhere new by yourself, unless you're up to no good."  
"You would know, wouldn't you?" Peter smirked, bumping his shoulder against Stiles' before taking the lead as they left the large gaggle of teenagers.  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
"You had lowest security. You were always sneaking around and getting stuff for everyone."  
"You've got a point. Why'd you never ask for anything?"  
"Never wanted anything more than what I had."  
"A dingy cell, a crappy bed set, no entertainment, and plain clothes? Are you insane?"  
"Some would say. I say when you watch your family burn alive in front of you, things like clothes and bedding don't really matter that much. You don't really care about how something feels when you can't really feel it."  
"Oh, right! You were the one who tinkered with the electric system to get an airflow in your room and blasted it with pure oxygen, instead. Now I remember! Damn, that must've been shit. Did the bodies smell gross after they burnt? I heard from one of the guards that it stank to high fucking heaven."  
Stiles ran into Peter's back, grunting at the force of impact. "Why'd you stop walking?"  
"How can you just fucking ask something so insensitive?"  
"Because I watched my dad compress into nothing and the light fade from his eyes after the chancellor had the guard open the airlock when they floated my dad. I watched the life literally drain from my mother when they wouldn't help her with her sickness anymore. I feel burnt flesh isn't too much to ask about."  
"It is to me. So how about you just shut the fuck up and walk in silence?"  
Stiles frowned and shoved down the gross feeling rising in his chest and pooling in his gut. He simply nodded and moved past Peter, walking towards a greener patch of moss on the ground. Hopefully they were close to water. He was getting thirsty.  
Peter's footsteps were close behind, the crunch in the foliage on the ground a sound Stiles found slightly soothing.  
It wasn't the first time he'd been told to shut his mouth, but it was probably a record at how quick it happened this time. He'd heard the stories about Peter's family, how he hid away in his cell and drove away every roommate, how the guards would draw sticks to see who had to serve him his food and take him to the washroom for showers every couple of days. He'd also heard that Peter spoke to no one, and to have had two full conversations with him already, Stiles had jumped the gun and foregone every caution he should've heeded. No surprise. Idiocy seemed to run in his bloodline.  
"I think these berries are edible."  
Stiles jumped slightly at the soft voice and turned to see Peter bent down by a bush a couple of feet away. He made his way over and crouched down beside the older kid, leaning in to get a better look. "They look like blueberries from the videos. Maybe we mash a few between two rocks and see? Or am I not allowed to give ideas because I'm supposed to be 'shutting the fuck up'?"  
Peter rolled his eyes and tossed a handful of moss at Stiles before picking a few berries off of a stem and setting them on top of a stone. "Want to do the honors, insensitive asshole of the planet? Or is that left to me?"  
"I don't know, do you trust me, or am I too stupid to grab a rock and smash something myself?"  
"I hope I'm not putting too much faith in you, asking so much. I know we just crash landed, you can blame any difficulties on a concussion you may have sustained in the landing."  
"And give you ammo to use against me later? Un-fucking-likely, asswipe. Gimme that rock by your foot before I use your forehead, since you're so damn hard-headed."  
Peter snorted quietly in amusement, handing the rock to Stiles. He winked over exaggeratedly as he took it, making a kissy noise at Peter and laughing when he punched his shoulder.  
"You want to count me down?"  
"They're fucking berries. Smash them. I knew this was too much for you to handle."  
Stiles huffed good naturedly and carefully mashed the berries with the rock. He grabbed a stick and pushed around the mushy remains, shrugging slightly. "I'm not sure what we expected to gain from this. They look like the blueberries on the ark and they smell like them. Why'd we smash them with a rock?"  
"It was your idea, genius. I just figured you had some kind of system going. I've already put too much faith in you."  
Stiles rolled his eyes and elbowed Peter. "Should we gather some in my beanie I have on me and keep a supply with us? Maybe grab some on the way back later?"  
Peter shrugged and stood up, grunting softly as he stretched his arms over his head. "Whatever floats your boat, Stilinski."  
"Let's take some now and grab more on the way back, later. Maybe even keep this to ourselves so no one else comes to take our supply."  
"They're fucking berries. We can share," Peter scoffed.  
"I wish they were fucking berries. Haven't been laid in a while. Also, that would be an interesting concept."  
Peter shook his head and huffed quietly in amazement as he grabbed some berries and started munching on them. "Please, enlighten me."  
"On how long it's been since I've been laid?" Stiles frowned, looking up from the bunch of blueberries he was methodically picking off.  
"Yes. I want to know about your sexual prowess," Peter's voice was dripping with sarcasm as he gave Stiles an 'Are you fucking kidding me?' look.  
Stiles scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out in response before he resumed picking off his loot. "Fucking berries. If you take 'fucking' and switch it from a lucrative additive for lack of vocabulary to an adjective describing the type of berry… a 'fucking berry'. A berry that makes the person who consumes it want to fuck. A horny berry. Or, perhaps, a berry that fucked the person who consumes it. Whether it be literal, or maybe it fucks up their insides. Because it's bad for the digestive system. Therefore the fucking in its name paying homage to that fact that it will be fucking you up a few hours after you've eaten it. But, still, the horniness aspect offers more discussion, at least in my opinion. Sure, we could discuss what about the berry would mess up your intestines, if it even is your intestines it messes up, but why discuss the bland stuff when we can talk about sex? It's only expected. So, a horny berry. Does it make you horny the second you eat it, or is it later? What if it's like the old Earth medicine Viagra and just gives you a boner if you're a dude? Is it that kind of 'fucking berry'? Or does it act almost like the Cupid arrows, where you eat it and the first person you lay eyes on you want to fuck? Is it purely for copulation, and will its effects only wear off after having sex, or can it wear off after you've excreted it? Then, what type of copulation would rid its effects on the body? Does it have to be with another person or would masturbation suffice? And does it need to be… 'full on' copulation, or would something like a handjob or finger-fucking work? Does it require an orgasm, or simply to get turned on? Which, I guess, if it didn't require an orgasm to rid its effects it could leave the body naturally. But, technically, some endorphins are released before orgasm that flood the body afterwards. And is it the endorphins that rid the berry's effects, or is it the high adrenaline amounts- I should shut up. It was rhetorical, wasn't it?" Stiles cut himself off mid sentence when he saw Peter's wide eyes, his jaw hanging open with a berry halfway to his mouth.  
There were a few tense, silent seconds before Peter seemingly shook himself back into a functioning state. "Uh, no. I guess not? I'm not sure what I was expecting, but-"  
"-it wasn't that," Stiles supplied him with the words, sighing heavily before turning around to look the other way. He really was a true Dumb Bitch ™, no wonder he didn't really have people to talk to. He just ranted for who knows how long about 'fucking berries' and their effect on humans, if such a thing were to exist.  
"Technically, in theory, wouldn't a 'fucking berry' have to exist to have made that Viagra stuff men would take?"  
"Not necessarily. Humanity had gotten to the point where they could artificially render proteins and other natural things, so they could've cloned whatever hormone it is that sets off the blood rush to get a penis hard. Natural remedies weren't a huge thing."  
Peter nodded and moved to join Stiles where he was looking at the trees surrounding them. "Should we keep trying to find that water or try to retrace our steps back to the crash site?"  
"Maybe we should gather some more berries for a stockpile and head back and see if we can't find a nice place for the night? It's starting to get dark. I don't want to lay on rocks and sticks."  
"Sounds like a good idea. We'll look for water later."  
Peter started leading them back to the loud noise and Stiles couldn't help himself as he admired the older kid's backside. The others were right, he was very well endowed and it was a shame he never spoke with the others. But it also meant that it would mean more to Stiles if he was able to win Peter over. The annoying idiot who never shut up finally getting the cold-hearted, hot as hell loner to open up and smile? Maybe then people would give him more attention. And Peter seemed nice enough, he'd be a good friend to get. It would be a win-win situation. Maybe even for them both.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Specific Warnings:**  
>  Mention of weapons, mention of nightmares, fear of the unknown

Stiles and Peter were able to find a nice enough spot towards the center of the camp, a short distance from the empty shell of the ship. Stiles had also managed to nab a couple of sleeves for water and blueberry storage for the time being. A couple of stones had been sharpened by Peter in the time it took to find the materials Stiles had searched for.  
After that he decided to grab the two short pieces of metal tubing he'd seen and the shirt left by the second kid who'd died. He was pretty sure the Chancellor's kid was dragging the body away. He didn't want to offer too much thought to what was happening because it would only haunt him, so stealing a shirt and some medical paste to fashion together their little knives wouldn't be bad on his conscience in place of any other thoughts.  
Peter had accepted the materials with a small smile and went back to sharpening his third rock in silence. A couple of the other kids were watching them with slight interest but Stiles simply offered a friendly wave and they went back to their own tasks.  
The older man Stiles had noticed earlier, his name was Bellamy. He remembers his and Octavia's story, of the family hiding a child under the floorboard for sixteen years before she was finally caught. Of a mother floated and a sister imprisoned. No wonder the guy looked constipated 24/7 and was fighting with isolation girl.  
"I'd really appreciate some quiet while I work," Peter's slightly irritated voice broke Stiles' pondering and he could feel his cheeks going rosy.  
"That was all out loud?"  
"You really couldn't feel your mouth moving and hear the words coming out of it?"  
"No. I have this brain thing that's called Attention Deficit Disorder. Mom said it made me special because my brain works different from everyone else's. So far she's the only one who's thought that, other people just say I never shut up. But that's part of it. I talk a lot because there's a lot on my brain. There's so much to notice and take stock of, I constantly have three streams of thought running through my mind at once," Stiles paused when Peter gave him an exasperated look, "and I also ramble because I like to share. Sorry. Should I get more berries?"  
"Not without a buddy. Why not lay down and try to get some sleep, that way you'll be rested and can take first watch tonight when I'm ready to sleep."  
"That sounds like a nice idea. Is it okay if I use both of our jackets as a pillow for now?"  
"As long as you sleep and stop talking, I couldn't care if you stripped naked and slept with your head in my lap."  
"Don't tempt me," Stiles grinned, grabbing the jackets and balling them up. "Is it okay if I'm kind of close to you, though? Sometimes I have nightmares and it's best if there's someone close by to wake me up."  
"Sure, just don't actually lay on top of me," Peter muttered, resuming his task from earlier. The stones were sharpening nicely, the quiet chipping sounds pulling Stiles into an easy sleep.

 

° ° ° ° °

 

"Wake up, I'm tired," Peter's slightly annoyed voice and a gentle shoulder shaking woke Stiles up . He blinked away the sleep from his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. He grunted and sat up, rubbing his eyes.  
"Why are you waking me up? And why is it so cold?" Stiles grimaced, wrapping his arms around his torso and hugging himself.  
"It's your turn to sit up and watch. I'm tired, and my hands and arms are sore," Peter mumbled, taking one of the coats Stiles had been laying on and putting it on. "You can wear the other one since it's cold. If my neck hurts later I'm blaming you."  
Stiles nodded and took the jacket, watching Peter move around and get comfortable. "How long would you like to sleep?"  
"I don't know. Until you're tired again?" Peter shrugged, shoving piles of leaves to the outer edge of their little area before laying down beside Stiles.  
"Can I hum or talk to myself, or something? You'll probably get annoyed if I'm tapping my fingers."  
"How? There's no metal. Tap your fingers and just keep it quiet. I believe in you."  
"I'd thank you for the vote of confidence if your voice weren't so laced with sarcasm," Stiles smiled, grabbing their food pouches and bringing them closer to his body. "Are you one of those people that's going to want to sleep with a knife in your hand, just in case? We apparently have five."  
"Six," Peter mumbled without moving and Stiles couldn't help a quiet chuckle as he set the pouches on top of the knives and got comfortable leaning back against the tree.  
Some of the other teens closer to the ship had a bonfire raging and were dancing around, laughing and yelling with each other. Peter didn't seem bothered, however, so Stiles decided to sit back and take in their surroundings. They were closer to the back end of the general camp area that had been set up, close to the dropship still but in an area that kept them towards the outer edges and away from the other kids and their noise. Peter seemed to be keen on being alone and quiet, like he'd been on the ark. Stiles wasn't going to complain, really, it was nice to have some peace and not have to focus on everything and everyone happening all at once.  
The trees around them were magnificent, Stiles couldn't help but notice, and the way they swayed with the breeze was quite mesmerizing. The gentle rippling sounds of the leaves with each gust was calming, a gentle and serene background noise to the otherwise scary and daunting open spaces and unknowns surrounding them. The thought sent a chill down Stiles' spine and he carefully set a hand on Peter's shoulder, taking a steadying breath. It was no time for negative thoughts, so, with one more deep breath Stiles looked back out to his surroundings, letting the softer thoughts make their way to the forefront of his mind once more.  
The tall grass was lush and almost soft, ideas for a better bedding solution were already buzzing in Stiles' mind as he shifted his weight so his butt wouldn't go numb. This was going to take a lot of getting used to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Time Passed:**  
>  About 5 days. Octavia has been kidnapped after going after Jasper, another kid who was kidnapped. They are mentioned in the chapter offhandedly. (This is really where Canon divergence starts.)  
>  **Chapter Specific Warnings:**  
>  Threats of violence, mentions of kidnapping

Stiles sighed happily as he rolled over on the now comfortable bedding solution he'd thrown together for him and Peter. Bunches of the grass dried out properly and tied together with the longer, thicker pieces left them with a nice cushion and a bit of warmth. They also weren't wasting potential clothing material as bedding, and because of that their blankets were transformed into makeshift bags and even a pillow stuffed with even more grass. After showing a couple of the kids in camp who wanted to have bedding of their own, Stiles was soon known as the brains for comfort in their survival. Everyone's little camp sites even moved in closer to the drop ship so less resources were wasted trying to maintain singular shelters so far apart.  
Peter had even started letting Stiles ramble whenever he decided to talk, the older kid working in silence as Stiles went on and on about other possible solutions.  
Murphy had made an attempt at strongarming Stiles into giving ideas to him first in Bellamy's absence. Jasper had been skewered with a spear and left for dead by an exploration party a couple of days ago. When a party had left yesterday to try and retrieve his body, it was discovered he was missing. Octavia had left camp last night after fighting with Bellamy about trying to find Jasper, and this morning he'd left with a handful of his closest followers in tow.  
Even with a knife pressed to his throat and four other meatheads trying to force him into agreement, with a menacing look from Peter the kid backed off. Some stupid insult was thrown their way but Stiles had been too busy smiling at Peter to notice.  
"I don't like assholes. He's a major asshole," Peter had said dismissively, turning his attention back to the stitching he was doing on a new shirt for Stiles.  
"Not as much of an ass as me, though, right?"  
"I didn't think it was possible, but he actually has you beat. Mostly because he's a dick, as well, and you're not so bad once you get past the never shutting up thing."  
Stiles didn't really know what to say afterwards and instead sat beside Peter to watch him work. Hopefully he could pick up the stitching patterns and they could make clothes quicker, both for themselves and the others in camp.  
"I know I mentioned you never shutting up, but it's honestly unnerving when you don't talk."  
"What do you want from me, Peter? You give me shit for talking and then you complain when I'm quiet," Stiles smiled, poking fun at Peter as he finally looked up from watching him work.  
"I expect you to read my mind and know exactly what to do when I want you to do it."  
"I know there are myths and rumours about being exposed to high levels of radiation and how it'll give you superpowers. I almost feel bad killing this dream of yours, but I must," Stiles sighed dramatically, grabbing Peter's shoulders and forcing him to make eye contact. "Peter, I'm just a human. Sure, I may be outstanding at times, I may seem otherworldly, but I'm still just a man."  
"A _man_ ," Peter scoffed, going back to his sewing.  
Stiles gasped and feigned hurt, pretending to faint. "I can't believe this. I'm wounded, I'm fatally wounded. How could you do this to me? I trusted you to keep my fragile ego intact, and this is what you do? You mock my manliness in my own home? Under my own roof?"  
"I put this roof together because someone's supposedly big brain didn't think about using big leaves in case it rained, and how much easier it would be to put together."  
"Wow, that's a lot of words," Stiles grinned, sitting up and ruffling his hair to get the dirt out of it. "If you're so smart, where's your solution to running water and no more dirt floors? Huh?"  
"Pull some electricity out of your ass and find me something that can be molded and then stay solid and you can call yourself smart."  
"I can call myself smart all I want. You just don't call me smart."  
"Because I don't believe in giving baseless compliments. You know you're smart, you don't need me to tell you."  
"It's still nice to hear it, sometimes."  
"Is that why you never shut up about me?"  
"That, and because if anything happens I don't want people to think you're useless and just try to sacrifice you, or whatever. I want them to realize how valuable you are, and all that. You are innovative and smart and good at working with your hands and putting things together. You helped me figure out a good schedule for water and food collection for everyone, helped me figure out how to patch and clean the old fuel drums in the ship so they could store and dispense water without leaking. You may know you're all of these things, but everyone else doesn't, and if they get to hear me compliment you they'll realize you're actually a great person to get to know," Stiles finished with a shrug, grabbing a heavy scrap piece of material that was supposed to become a blanket. "Can I hem the sides of this for-" A quiet sniffle cut Stiles off and he looked over at Peter with a concerned frown. "What's wrong?"  
"Nothing. Hem the blanket," The older teen responded with a hoarse voice, blinking rapidly to clear up his eyes. "Clarke needs some for her little med bay when she gets back. We don't know if Octavia will be alive, but it's better to be prepared than not."  
Stiles nodded and took a needle and the twine Peter offered him without a word. He settled with his back resting against Peter's, the two of them working in companionable silence for a few minutes.  
"Can you hum that song?"  
"Which one?"  
"The river one. I can't remember the name or who you said it's by."  
"River Flows In You," Stiles supplied Peter with before he started humming the tune in the mid afternoon quiet of the camp. Occasionally someone would stop by and drop off a bag or two that needed some small work and Peter just motioned to their pile in the corner for the teens to drop it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Time Passed:**  
>  2 days  
>  **Chapter Specific Warnings:**  
>  Chaos, leading with fear, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of death, mentions of violence

It was all out chaos in the camp since the rescue party had made it back. They'd lost four kids in the process, managed to rescue Octavia and Jasper, and Bellamy had succeeded in re-establishing his leadership by striking fear into the kids at camp. There were others out there, Grounders, as he'd called them. They'd chased and corralled and hunted the rescue party like animals. He failed to mention what Octavia had told Stiles when he was helping Clarke; how one of the Grounders had rescued her, taken her from a danger spot and kept her safe - albeit chained in a cave and held against her will. He'd even blown his horn to warn of the acid fog, but it had been a false alarm. Whether on purpose or not, it still saved their lives.  
"They're like us. You've got the Bellamy's and Murphy's who run around terrorizing and using their knife instead of their brains out of sheer terror of the unknown, but then you've got ones like Clarke who are cautious yet open-minded. I'm not sure about Octavia, it sounds like she might have a bit of Stockholm Syndrome, is what Clarke called it."  
"What's that? I've never heard it," Peter had mastered entertaining Stiles and continuing to work at the same time, which he was currently doing materfully - weaving a basket and listening to his babbling.  
"It's where someone who's been kidnapped or taken or hurt in some way grows to have romantic feelings for the person that's hurting them."  
"That's fucked up," Peter grimaced, shaking his shoulders to rid the gross feeling it gave him. "How about Jasper? He was on a makeshift stretcher when you brought him in."  
"We had to do a surgery. His chest was filling with fluid and Clarke somehow knew how to open it and release the built up blood. It was gross. I'll probably have nightmares."  
"I'm guessing you couldn't leave because you were helping out?"  
"You know me, if you can't find someone to do it, just ask Stiles."  
"And is that why you wanted me to find a better system for waste removal? You kept getting asked to get rid of everyone's shit?" Peter chuckled, stretching his arms over his head and popping his knuckles after.  
"Yes. I'm tired of taking care of everyone else's shit," Stiles grinned, yawning as he finally sat down. "It's getting kind of old."  
"I'm not sure what we'd do without you," Peter murmured, going back to the   
"Ya know, Clarke really wants to thank you in person for the stuff you made her."  
"Why? I stitched blankets and made her a pouch for carrying things around. It's no big deal."  
"She's grateful, regardless of how small of a deal it was," Stiles smiled, laying down on their bed and stretching his arms over his head with a small grunt. "Especially because your little bag thingy helped her to bring back the moss that saved Jasper."  
"She could've made it herself," Peter muttered, hunching his shoulders.  
"But she didn't, that's the thing. Anyone could have made any of the things you've come up with, but they didn't. Nobody was thinking long term as efficiently as you were. Do you know how many kids were dehydrated because they were too busy fucking and sleeping and running around to take care of themselves? And do you know who's ingenious invention-"  
"Okay! I get it. I'm a fucking genius. Will you just shut the fuck up and go to sleep?"  
"Normally, I would, but right now you seem… tenser than usual."  
"And I'm going to get even tenser if you keep talking," Peter muttered, giving all of his attention to the hem of the shirt now in front of him.  
Stiles gave a long suffering sigh as he got up and moved to sit beside Peter, facing the older teen and staring at him while he worked.  
"I said to go the fuck to sleep."  
Stiles didn't respond, he simply sat forward with his elbows on his knees and watched Peter work.  
"If you don't sleep, you're still taking your usual time, whether or not you've slept."  
"Worth it," Stiles mumbled, letting Peter's easy movements lull him into a simpler state of mind.  
"So, you'd rather bug me and stay up and lose sleep than just let me be?"  
"You tell me to sleep but you keep asking me questions. Which is it, Peter?" Stiles murmured with a small teasing smile, looking up at the annoyed teen.  
"I want you to stop getting on my nerves."  
"As someone that's lived with me my entire life, trust me, that'll never happen," Stiles smiled bitterly, shifting to sit with his knees folded up against his chest. "You can ask anyone around here. I'll never step getting on your nerves."  
"You could at least make an effort," Peter muttered.  
"See, I would, but then I realize I would be changing myself fundamentally for a person who doesn't give a shit about me. I'd rather be alone and know who I am and what I want from life than be surrounded by a gaggle of dickheads who don't really know anything about me," Stiles muttered, standing up and brushing off his legs. "I'm gonna go relieve Clarke. Come get me when you're ready to sleep."  
"Really? You're going to run away pouting?"  
"It seems if I just so much as fucking breathe in your general vicinity I'm pissing you off, so I'd rather let you be by yourself than take your shit for simply existing."  
Stiles could hear Peter mutter something under his breath as he walked towards the dropship, but he was too upset to really care.  
Clarke didn't argue or ask any questions when Stiles told her to lay down. She gave him a soft, pitying smile and handed him her belt of supplies and a warm rag she was keeping pressed to Jasper's forehead to help relieve some of his fever.  
At least here he wasn't the most annoying, his need to constantly be doing something was helpful in the makeshift medbay. He could organize and count and label and make sure Jasper was fine and bring Octavia food and water and make sure Clarke was sleeping peacefully and not have to worry about his movements pissing anyone off.  
Why did it have to be so difficult?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Time passed:**  
>  3 days  
>  **Chapter Specific Warnings:**  
>  Violence, poison, arguing between friends

Stiles had absolutely not been avoiding Peter the last couple of days. Sure, he may have taken every expeditionary assignment Bellamy brought up, gone on every food and water run, worked to trim the trees surrounding camp nonstop, but that didn't mean he was avoiding Peter. He still came to the camp to sleep and to take his watch while Peter slept. It wasn't really necessary, as Bellamy had instituted a twenty-four hour watch over the camp the very night he returned.  
Yet, Stiles and Peter didn't mention it. Stiles had even grown quiet, simply greeting and leaving Peter with a tight smile and small wave of his hand. The latter seemed almost emotionless now, having retreated back into the Peter Stiles had known of on the ark. Not even a small polite smile, let alone an acknowledging nod towards anyone as he walked past - except Stiles. They would hold eye contact for a few tense moments before turning away from each other and getting back to their tasks.  
This time, as Stiles was heading out - leading his own group, for once - Peter jogged up and grabbed his shoulder. "Here, these masks. They work in case the acid fog comes around. I tested them yesterday."  
Stiles narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw tightly. "Who went with you outside?"  
"Finn. We went to the lake and the horn sounded. Why's it matter?"  
"Just making sure you're not being the idiot you accuse me of being."  
"Now, why would I give you that kind of ammo?" Peter scoffed, a small smile pulling at his lips as he passed the rest of the masks around.  
Stiles was about to thank him when Bellamy stepped forward and clasped his shoulder. "If you two are done flirting, you've got a mission."  
"Oh, Bells, if I was flirting, everyone here would know," Stiles cooed, poking Bellamy's cheek and smirking at his eye roll. "Now, unhand me, you fool! I have a very important task ahead of me!"  
"You do. Clarke needs more of that moss and any other supplies. You've all checked your bags aren't torn anywhere?"  
"Checked them all myself, stitched the two that needed it. We have supplies and water and weapons and our wits about us. Now, again, unhand me, you f-"  
"If you call me a fool I will put you on watch rounds."  
"-fantastic, encouraging, strong leader! We must be off, your highness, for we have much to do-"  
"Stiles, for once in your life, just shut up and go," Peter was chuckling, standing off to the side and shaking his head in amusement.  
Stiles sighed dramatically and looked around to the three kids that were with him. Clarke, Octavia, and Finn. "Are we ready?"  
"We have been for a while now, Stiles."  
"Fight me, Clarke," Stiles huffed good naturedly before setting off through the gates at the front.

 

° ° ° ° °

 

"Explain to me why I'm leading this when Finn is in my group?"  
"You're very task oriented. Finn likes to go off and explore and doesn't always achieve what he set out to do," Octavia huffed a few paces behind. Stiles made a mental note to slow his pace a little so she wouldn't tire out. Her ankle had taken a while to heal after being kidnapped and she was still a bit out of practice.  
"But that's led to some great discoveries. He's made us maps and noted spaces good for hiding if we're ever out and the horn sounds. He's found other food sources and even good hunting grounds away from the Grounders."  
"Do you have to always see the positives? He didn't achieve what he set out to do and slowed down other essential tasks."  
" _He_ is also right here, Octavia," Finn muttered, pushing through some heavier foliage ahead of the group.  
"Uh, I hate to do this, but do you mind sticking closer to us, Finn?" Stiles asked gently, pausing on a system of roots to let Octavia and Clarke catch up.  
"But we have _goals to achieve_ ," Finn waved his hands sarcastically in the air around him, "We can't do them if we go this slow."  
"We'll get nothing done if you and Octavia don't grow the fuck up and deal with your problems instead of annoying the hell out of me. Now keep pace with us, dammit."  
"Ooh, I love it when a man gets all hot and bothered and defends me while also insulting me," Octavia cooed sarcastically as she walked past.  
"You shouldn't even be out here with us. Your ankle isn't fully healed and you're having trouble keeping up. Clarke had to leave her duties at the med bay to accompany us and keep an eye on you. Finn is pissy about that because he's not getting the attention he wants. And I'm tired of everyone being so damn selfish. We're trying to get medicine and anything else we come across. This isn't about you as an individual, it's about everyone as a whole. If everyone keeps fighting we're going to cause other problems. So, for now, how about we all shut the ever loving fuck up and just do what we're supposed to?"  
"Stiles," Clarke whispered, grabbing his shoulder. He shook her hand off and turned to face the three of them.  
"No. I'm not done. Because this has gone on long enough, and I'm tired of-" An eerie cry cut Stiles' rant short and he threw himself forward, taking down Clarke and Octavia as a spear flew over their heads. Finn was on the ground a few paces away, looking around at their surroundings with wide eyes. "We're close to the old shelter, aren't we?"  
"Kind of. It's our closest and best bet," Finn whispered back. Stiles crawled off of Clarke and Octavia. "Take them, I'm going to grab some of this poison and I'll follow. Don't ask, go. I can crawl quicker than all of you."  
Clarke opened her mouth to argue but another spear whizzing overhead and slamming into a tree trunk cut her off. She let Finn pull her away and toward the direction the shelter was in while Stiles took a piece of cloth from his backpack and picked up the spear that had landed on the ground. He grabbed a rock and snapped the upper portion from the staff and wrapped it thoroughly before putting it in his backpack. Another spear slammed into the ground beside Stiles and he quickly rolled away and into a pair of legs. His eyes were still squeezed shut, and now he did not want to open them for anything in the world.  
"Get up," a gruff voice commanded.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Time Passed:**  
>  None  
>  **Chapter Specific Warnings:**  
>  Violence, brief panic attack, mentions of kidnapping

Stiles' heart was racing. No, pounding. Going absolutely mad, bouncing off the walls (of his chest cavity), gone out to the races. He was sure the person he'd just rolled into spoke English, good English. But who could be standing tall and not be under fire right now? A grounder, obviously. Right now he wasn't sure if the paralysation was out of fear or confusion. There was a grounder speaking to him and not killing him. _What the fuck._  
"If I wanted you dead I would have killed you a while ago. Get moving, get to your friends. Octavia will need your help."  
Stiles's eyes flew open at the mention of her name, reaching for his knife. "How do you know her name?"  
"I'm the one who saved her."  
"You're the one who kidnapped her," Stiles hissed, rolling away and getting up to kneel, pressed against a tree but glaring the grounder down nonetheless.  
"I had to keep her like that because she kept trying to escape. She could have died," He said dismissively, looking around them. "You need to go, they're closing in. You can follow how your friends left."  
"How do I know you're not sending me directly into a trap?" Stiles didn't think it was possible, but he's pretty sure he managed to narrow his eyes even more at the man standing a few feet away from him.  
"Would I be this invested in talking? Why wouldn't I have just grabbed you or chased you that way?"  
"Psychological warfare, obviously."  
"My people believe too much in a fair fight for that."  
"Bullshit," Stiles hissed, wrapping his fingers around his knife. "Your people tried to kill an entire rescue party."  
"They were trespassing with weapons, just as you are this time. Now, go!" He snapped, looking around them once more. "They're almost close enough where I'll have to take you prisoner."  
Stiles glared at the grounder for a few heavy moments before he turned and took off towards the safe spot. When a spear whizzed past and nearly grazed his arm he dropped down and started army crawling forward, doing his best to keep his breathing and movements quiet as his brain raced with thoughts from the encounter he just had. He tumbled forwards into the shelter, flinching at the loud slam as Finn shut the door and Clarke slid the latch into place. He pushed her hands off of his body, trying to get his breathing under control as he started pacing, his hands in his hair.  
"Hm, Stilinski seems to be losing it. Maybe he isn't leader material after all," Octavia murmured from the bed she was sprawled across, arms tucked behind her head. "One little encounter and he's suddenly a whimpering mess."  
"They speak English," Stiles mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he kept pacing. "He spoke English. He fucking spoke English. We had a conversation. He _helped_ me. What the fuck. What the fuck?"  
"He? A grounder spoke to you?" Octavia sat up, Clarke and Finn turning to face him.  
"His skin was dark, wasn't it? His mask was white and the other half was an animal skull. Wasn't it?" Octavia asked quietly, a small smile on her face.  
Stiles just nodded, still pacing back and forth. "We're on their land. That's why they attacked. Because we're on their land. How? They've established borders? They organize?"  
Clarke set her hands on Stiles' shoulders and rooted him to the spot, waiting patiently for him to meet her eyes. "It's okay. You're safe right here, right now. That's all outside. Sit down and breathe with me, okay?"  
Stiles just nodded numbly and let her guide him to one of the beds. She helped him take off all of his bags and set them down. "I'm going to wet this cloth and put it on your forehead, it'll help you cool down. Is that okay?"  
"Don't waste the water."  
"We have plenty, and it won't even be a lot," Clarke murmured, pressing a damp strip of material to Stiles' forehead. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "He knew Octavia's name."  
"He held me for three days. I tried to get out."  
"What exactly did you tell him?" Stiles asked, a dreadful feeling pooling in his gut.  
"My name and that I wanted to get back to our camp. I didn't want to hurt him and I didn't want any of our people to get hurt. I didn't tell him anything beyond that, Stiles, I'm not stupid."  
Stiles' shoulders relaxed slightly and he opened his eyes, looking around and assessing their current state. "I say we take inventory and make sure our bags are still in one piece before we get back to it."  
"Are you serious? We were just attacked."  
"We'll go to a different spot, and this time we'll stay quiet and not argue. By the way," Stiles gave both Octavia and Finn a terse look, "you two hash it out right now or I'm sending you both back to camp and Clarke and I will do this ourselves. Get over there and start talking."  
When neither of them moved Stiles clenched his jaw. "I mean it. Talk it out or I'm telling Bellamy to keep you both tethered to camp. Understand me?"  
Finn grimaced but followed Octavia to the far side of their little hideaway. They didn't start talking immediately, but once they did Stiles laid down on the bed and gently pushed Clarke's hand away. "Can you check their bags and let me know if I need to do any stitching?"  
"Yeah. You didn't get hit, or anything, did you?"  
"No. I somehow managed to dodge everything and make it here in one piece. Sorry," Stiles joked lightly, smiling when Clarke flicked his shoulder before she stood to start looking over everything.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Time Passed:**  
>  6 days  
>  **Chapter Specific Warnings:**  
>  Angry confrontation, mentions of violence, use of the word "whore", intense feelings of loneliness, mention of knives, mention of hunting
> 
> _The One With The Obligatory Lonely Dream_

"Why is it I'm finding out from Clarke you were attacked? And that you talked to a grounder?" Bellamy hisses from behind Stiles, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from his living area.  
"Because I knew you'd react just like this. Nothing happened, no one was hurt, and I'm kind of confused by what he said."  
"By what _it_ said," Bellamy corrected him, yanking Stiles towards his large quarters in the center of camp.  
"He," Stiles snapped, yanking his arm from Bellamy's grip and glaring at the others in the room until they left. They could have their little daily orgy later. Right now, Stiles was pissed. He was missing out on sleep.  
" _It_ ," Bellamy replied with a menacing tone of voice, turning to face Stiles and giving him an icy, expectant look. "Tell me."  
"Why? So you can endanger more of us and send us after clearly advanced warriors in some shitty move of anger? No, I'm fine."  
"Octvaia said it was the same one that kept her. It spoke English."  
"They described him, but who knows how many of the Grounders fit his description?"  
"What did he do?" Bellamy snapped, stepping closer to Stiles threateningly.  
"He helped me! He told me they attacked because we were trespassing, then he told me how to escape. He remembered Octavia's name and recognized Clarke and Finn. He didn't even have a weapon in hand."  
"Have you told anyone else about this?"  
"I haven't, but I can't say anything about the others. I was freaking out, I didn't know they could speak English. You know what this means, right?"  
"That they've been needlessly attacking us when we could've been talking to each other. Yes, I understand."  
"Woah, hold on. Think if it were us. Strange new slightly similar looking people are on our land, walking around with weapons. You'd give an order to attack, wouldn't you, Bellamy?"  
Stiles was met with angry silence, but still an implied command to continue speaking.  
"I want to go back out there. No weapons, no layers, so they can see that I'm unarmed. I want to see if we can set up a meeting."  
"Who would you take with you?"  
"Clarke, Octavia, Jasper, and Wells. You would stay behind in the event something would go wrong. We couldn't leave the camp without a leader."  
"So, you'd be working as an emissary for me and our people." It was a statement, no questioning.  
"I know everyone here in a more general sense than anyone else. I can listen, and you know I'm not easily angered. Clarke would be there as the tougher side if I start to go too easy. Octavia and Jasper as a symbol of our willingness to forgive and to have an open mind. Wells is even another level head, but also some muscle if anything we're to happen. How does that sound?"  
"Give me time to think it over. I'll let you know. And, Stiles," Bellamy grabbed his shoulder before he could leave. "If I find you leaving the camp to do this without my permission, I'll have Murphy kill you on the spot. Understood?"  
"Sure. You think Murphy is smart enough to kill me."  
"Dammit, Stiles! I'm serious. If you start talks without the person you want shown as leader knowing what's happening, you make us look weak and unorganized. Just give me some time to think over talking points and to talk to everyone you want to go with you. Okay?"  
Stiles nodded and shook off Bellamy's hand, taking a deep breath. "You have my word."  
"Great. You can tell Peter, because I know he won't do anything stupid, but please, no one else."  
Stiles nodded again and left Bellamy's quarters, ignoring the curious looks he received as he made his way back to his and Peter's space.  
"So, you fucking Bellamy now, too?"  
"Too?" Stiles frowned, stopping in the doorway, his jacket halfway off.  
"Everyone else is. Figured you'd want in, could win him over and get yourself a better standing with everyone."  
"By whoring myself out? No, thanks. That's not my thing. I'd rather be respected because I've earned it, not because I'm good at sucking dick," Stiles scoffed, finally stepping inside and settling onto their makeshift bed.  
"Then why'd he dramatically pull you away, muttering and everything?"  
"Why do you sound jealous?" Stiles chuckled, pulling his shirt off and stretching his arms over his head. He was emotionally exhausted.  
"Because maybe I am."  
"You know I'm not gonna sleep longer. You'll still get your time."  
After a lengthy stretch silence, when Stiles had almost dozed off, Peter spoke up again. "That's not why I'm jealous."  
"Then why are you?" Stiles murmured, grunting softly as he rolled over to face Peter. "It's not like I'm yours, or anything. You shouldn't be bothered by anyone dragging me away. If anything you should be relieved. Some peace and quiet."  
Peter's shoulders went tense and he hunched over his work, sharpening the knife in his hand with more care than usual. "I don't like people dragging you away. I like when you're around."  
Stiles frowned and sat up, watching Peter intently. "What are you saying?"  
"I like when you're around. You make me happy and that annoys me because you're everything I can't stand in a person."  
Stiles stared at his hands for a moment, trying to process everything. "You like being around me, or you like me?"  
Another heavy beat of silence before Peter stopped what he was doing and looked at their far wall. "Yes."  
"Yes, what? I asked two questions," Stiles asked quietly, his heart racing.  
"Do I really have to say it?"  
"Please. I don't want to mix anything up."  
"I have feelings for you, you idiot. Stupid, gross, romantic feelings. I get jealous when people pull you away, when people flirt with you, when you laugh at other people's jokes. I also want to give you the nicest things this hellhole has to offer, and I get scared every time you leave camp now because I don't want to lose you."  
"This… this isn't some kind of twisted joke, is it?" Stiles whispered, standing up from the bed and glaring at Peter's back, tears budding in his eyes. "Is it?"  
"I know I'm an ass, but do you really think I'd do something like that? Really?" Peter huffed, turning to look at Stiles, finally.  
"It's happened before," Stiles supplied quietly, walking over to Peter and kneeling beside him.  
"Tell me who it was later and I'll make their life hell," Peter promised, leaning in towards Stiles.  
They were about to kiss when Stiles heard a quiet voice say, "Wake up." He opened his eyes to Peter shaking his shoulder gently, tired eyes barely able to stay open. "'m sleepy," he mumbled, crawling over Stiles before flopping down in their bed.  
"Me, too. Why'd you have to wake me up?" Stiles whispered, an aching sensation carving out a cold space in his chest. He leaned back so his back was pressed against Peter's, his skin tingling at the warmth of the bodily contact.  
"Because it's your turn to watch and work on knives. Bellamy needs three more before the hunting crew leaves at dawn."  
Stiles let a few tears fall silently before he finally sat up, rubbing his eyes of his futile dreams and the exhaustion that had swooped back in the second he felt the loss of his happy dreams. "I'm on it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Time Passed:**  
>  3 days  
>  **Chapter Specific Warnings:**  
>  Mentions of violence, mentions of weapons, mentions of death, threats of violence

Stiles had waited patiently until Bellamy finally gave him the answer he was hoping for - they could try to start up peace negotiations.  
There were so many rules, though. Stiles would stay at the front and be the only one to speak. If Clarke had any comments they went through Stiles. Each of them were to carry a makeshift whistle that Jasper had fashioned, and if anything went wrong, they'd blow it to signal that they needed out and an attack could be happening at any moment.  
They were also only to speak to the grounder that had saved them before. Any and all negotiations, if they were to happen at this time, would be to set up a meeting for Bellamy and the leader of the Grounders to meet on neutral ground in an open space and speak honestly with each other.  
Not to mention, of all people giving him rules, Peter's demands. Don't die, don't do anything stupid, don't get kidnapped, don't let anyone else get kidnapped, come back safe and sound, blow the whistle if anything went wrong. Stiles had let him ramble on and on, a small amused smile gracing his features.  
"What's so funny? I'm telling you how not to die, and you think it's funny?"  
"I think it's endearing that you care about me this much," Stiles chuckled, standing up and grabbing Peter's shoulder. "I'll be fine."  
Now Stiles, Clarke, Octavia, Jasper, Wells, and a required addition, Finn, were headed to the spot where they were last attacked. Each of them was unarmed and in a simple outfit. No pockets or any kind of fold-over that could be seen as a weapon concealment.  
It didn't take long for the first spear to whiz past their head and sink into a tree trunk. Stiles motioned for them all to get down before cupping his hands over his mouth to amplify his words. "We are unarmed! We want to talk! The one I saw the other day, where are you?"  
"He is not out today," a gruff voice spoke up to Stiles' left side, a menacing figure dropping down from a tree. "State your business."  
"We would like to… talk," Stiles said quietly, slowly rising to his feet and meeting the dark eyes behind the mask in front of him.  
"You have already stated this," The voice sounded frustrated now. Stiles didn't break his gaze even as he heard a number of thumps around him as more Grounders descended from the trees.  
"My leader and my people, we understand we are no match for your ambush strategies. At the very least, we would like to establish territory so we no longer trespass on your land. My leader would prefer to be able to do this in person with yours, in a neutral, open space with no weapons and only honesty."  
"Why should I not kill you on the spot?"  
"You would be sending a message to my leader that the only thing left is to fight. We may not have stealth or poison, but we have our own tactics that could wipe you out without breaking a sweat on our part. Each of us would lose many people. Why not try and talk it out? We've mapped out a general idea of your borders, but it would go a long way if we could at least have that to start growing a stronger relationship with. Trespassing tends to put a strain on peace between nations."  
"Why should I not think this is some kind of trap?"  
"We will let you choose the meeting space. We will only bring along five of our own as long as you promise to do the same."  
"You do not expect me to speak for my leader without a consult?"  
"Of course not. I will be back at this spot, alone and unarmed, in two days, awaiting a response. I am trusting you not to kill me if your answer is a no, but to rather deliver that message and let me go peacefully."  
"You think highly of us. Why do the rest of your people not?"  
"The only stories they know of are Octavia being kidnapped, Jasper being kebob'd, and the attacks on us with no attempt at communication. I'd like to believe you are more civilized than you've led us to believe."  
"We will be back with an answer in that time. Leave our lands now and there will be no further issue."  
"Thank you," Stiles nodded his head and motioned for the rest of his party to stand up now. "We will be on our way."  
The mask nodded and the circle around them dissolved. Stiles led his Entourage back to camp in a slightly stunned silence. Bellamy was there to greet them, whisking Stiles away before he could so much as wave to Peter that he was back safely.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Time Passed:**  
>  2 days  
>  **Chapter Specific Warnings:**  
>  Mentions of violence, mentions of war, mentions of killing

Stiles was sitting on a knot of roots, rubbing his fingers together as he waited patiently for a messenger from the Grounders to arrive. He was nervous, admittedly so, seeing as this could easily get him killed if it went wrong.  
Bellamy had been impatient to hear the news when Stiles finally made it back to the campsite. "Give me a full debrief."  
"Well… we left the camp, right? Then we walked to the spot. We waited. We ducked from a spear. I got their attention. One of them spoke to me. The one from the other day wasn't out with them, so I couldn't speak with him. But! But-" Stiles held up his hands to stop whatever Bellamy was going to yell at him for, "-but, he said he would relay our message and agreed to meet me, _alone_ , in two days. If their answer is no, he agreed they would still let me leave peacefully."  
"You made plans to meet them alone?" Bellamy asked, the anger evident even in the quiet, steady growl of his voice.  
"Yes. And he agreed to meet me alone. Or for someone to meet me alone. I need you to let this happen. No tail, no secret weapon, no hidden agenda. I need to be able to do this. Understand?"  
"Go back to your space. I'll talk with you about this later."  
"Oh-ho, oh no, you aren't. We're discussing this now, right here. What's your problem with this?"  
"That I'm sending one of my people alone literally into the hands of the enemy. That I'm sending one of my best strategists, communicators, helpers, right into danger! Alone! Unarmed! With no backup! To an enemy we can barely see, that we only recently found a cure to their poison. If you die, it's over. I won't be able to hold anyone back, especially Peter."  
"What do you mean, especially Peter? What's he have to do with this?" Stiles stepped close to Bellamy. That sounded like a threat.  
"Do you know how many times he's told me if you die he has battle plans? Maps, territory, high and low points and weapons and how to weaponize the fuel we still have. New fortifications, training regimens for an _army_. If he loses you. Do you understand why this is a difficult decision? If you even so much as get a scratch from a grounder, all hell will break loose."  
Stiles had been struck silent then, and now, days later, the words still sent a cold shock down his spine. Mainly because Peter had kept this from him, all of this, but had told Bellamy. Which meant he knew how it would make Stiles feel.  
"Hello. You are the one they sent from the Skywalkers?"  
Stiles jumped slightly at the voice from in front of him. He stood up and took in the person in front of him - seemingly female, shorter stature, even close to his height. "Yes. Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts. Should I introduce myself, or should I start heading back to my camp?"  
"You may tell me your name."  
"My name is Stilinski. Ah, one of our customs is to shake the other's hand when we meet. May I? Or is that… disrespectful?"  
"You may demonstrate, and I will let you know."  
The green eyes behind the mask watched Stiles expectantly. He couldn't help a disbelieving huff of laughter, shaking his head slightly to right himself. "Sorry, this is surreal for me. We hold our hands out to take the other's," Stiles explained, demonstrating with his own hands, "and give a firm grip and a shake. It is a sign of respect between two people. Usually we will say our own name if it is the first time, or greet someone we know and respect with their own name."  
"You hold hands? That's intriguing," the woman chuckled, holding her hand out nonetheless. Stiles took it and shook once, cringing slightly at the strength in her grip. "We also do not try to break the other person's hand."  
"Really? You would not use it as a demonstration of strength? What a pity."  
Stiles laughed quietly at that, rubbing his hands through his hair. "May I know your name? Or title? Some way to address you, perhaps?"  
"You may call me Lexa."  
"Hi, there, Lexa. Can I know exactly what we're going to do today?"  
"I will walk you along our borders that pertain to you, and you may explain to me why your leader wishes to talk."  
Stiles nodded and stepped back, motioning for Lexa to take the lead.  
"No, we will walk shoulder to shoulder and treat each other as equals. This way neither of us has any sort of advantage over the other, either."  
"That sounds like a good plan," Stiles conceded, stepping off with Lexa in the direction of the stream. She explained she would walk him along on a neutral path, which would be their new way of meeting should they need to relay any messages. Stiles had to admit, it was a good idea. No trespassing on either party's part, and it meant no possible accidental deaths.  
As they started back for her to show the other half, Stiles took the time to explain why they had decided a peace negotiation would be helpful to both parties. They were tired of the occasional lost person, treating wounds was getting old, and that it must be a waste of resources for the Grounders.  
"You call us Grounders? Why?"  
"I… our leader came up with it, and it stuck. We are originally from space, which I'm guessing is why we're Skywalkers. You are… from the ground. Grounders."  
"That makes sense. May I request you refer to us by our proper name?"  
"Of course," Stiles smiled encouragingly.  
"We will call ourselves Trikru. You may call us Trigeda. What shall we call you?"  
"We have simply been referring to each other as The Fallen. Perhaps Skaikru is what we could call ourselves. Or is that disrespectful to you?"  
"I see it almost as flattering, and entertaining. You wish to embody a name that demands fulfillment."  
"It demands fulfillment?"  
"We are warriors. Trikru are warriors. Skaikru would need to be warriors of their own. I think it demands respect on your part-" Lexa stopped speaking and kicked the back of Stiles' knee, pulling him to the ground alongside her. "Be quiet. There are those who would wish me dead. I can only hope they're not trying anything right now."  
Stiles nodded, forcing his ragged breathing to even out in record time. Of course this would happen now.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter specific warnings:**  
>  depictions of violence, mention of dangerous/out of control animal, bleeding

Arrows were raining down around them, slamming into the ground and shattering against tree trunks. Lexa huffed angrily, moving to cover Stiles partially with her body. "Do you have a safe spot you can get to? I don't think they're going to let this-"  
A loud roar followed by a guttural growl cut Lexa off. She went tense above Stiles, taking in a shaky breath. "I should have let my guard follow us," She muttered angrily. "Lead me to your hiding spot. I need to try to make a weapon."  
"I have a whistle. I can call my people."  
"That beast would rip you Skaikru to shreds. It is meant for my warriors."  
"Respectfully, fuck that," Stiles muttered, pulling the whistle from his shirt and blowing it loudly. Lexa grabbed it and ripped it away from his mouth, her eyes wild.  
"You just gave away our position! Start leading, and that safe spot better be close."  
Stiles grabbed his whistle back before turning around and crawling away, checking every so often to make sure Lexa was close behind. He'd heard a few whistles in response and the beast had roared again. This was going to be hell.  
They made it well enough to the small cave and Stiles made sure Lexa went in first before following her, keeping close to the cave entrance to keep a look out.  
"If anyone shows up, you stay hidden. Let them think it was only me. I can't have you getting hurt, alright?"  
"I will not be a coward," Lexa retorted, looking offended even beneath her mask.  
"It's not being a coward, it is working in our best interest to maintain the peace. My people know there is an issue and they're on their way. You don't have anyone close enough right now."  
"So your people can take me hostage and torture me? I would rather die out here."  
"If you die and your people have no clue what happened it will be absolute chaos. I need you alive. I will keep Bellamy from doing anything."  
"You would defy your leader?"  
"I'm his counsel. He listens to me," Stiles mumbled, his head snapping around when he heard another roar, much closer this time. He stepped back from the entrance and ushered Lexa farther back. "Are you some kind of representative? That's why others want you dead?"  
Lexa was quiet for a moment before she simply nodded, giving Stiles a long look. "You're bleeding."  
"I'm aware. It's fine for now, just a little scrape," Stiles mumbled, moving closer to the entrance again and glancing around. He turned around to ask another question when a hand reached down and yanked him backwards, throwing him to the ground. Another person, undeniably a Grounder, dropped down in front of the cave entrance and pointed a makeshift sort of sword at Stiles.  
He scrambled backwards, ending up with his back pressed to a tree as the man stepped closer, his weapon still out. "You will die, and your people will follow you soon after."  
Stiles didn't have a chance to ask why, instead his heart jumping into his throat as a strange leopard-ish hybrid roared close by. He made eye contact with the beast, rooted to the spot in fear. He could vaguely hear Bellamy shouting his name, but the beast was stalking closer and the Grounder. Stiles was _so_ fucked.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ambersagen.tumblr.com/post/185665515814/a-new-beginning-fic-by-squishysterek-art-by)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter specific warnings:**  
>  animal death, mention of gun/knives

The beast was stalking closer, its tail swishing behind itself. Stiles finally managed to struggle to his feet, pressing his back against the tree as he tried to think through all of his options. There was the simple plan of running, but he knew the animal would pin him down in seconds. He could blow the whistle, alert both Bellamy and the other Grounders where he was, and possibly piss off the beast in the process. If that were the case hopefully Lexa would be rescued and Clarke would be there to listen. There was a large stick nearby, not enough to really protect Stiles, but maybe enough to keep the thing distracted long enough for help to get there.  
So, Stiles blew the whistle. The beast roared and crouched down to pounce. Stiles took a sharp, painful breath before ducking down in a sort of roll towards the stick. He grabbed it and sat up, pointing it at the cat. It was closer now, long, sharp fangs glistening in the soft light that made it to the forest floor. Dark eyes were trained on Stiles, each exhale a growl as the creature stalked forward a few more steps before pouncing. Stiles yelled as he swung the log, a loud crack sounding through the trees as it came in contact with the beast's skull. It fell limp in front of him on the ground.  
A few feet away Bellamy broke through the brush with Clarke and Murphy in tow, just as Lexa made it to Stiles with a couple of her own Grounders. Bellamy lifted his gun while Clarke and Bellamy wielded their knives. Stiles lifted his hand towards Bellamy, taking in a raspy breath. "Don't. It wasn't her. She helped me."  
Bellamy didn't break eye contact but eventually lowered his gun, but kept his finger on the trigger. "You're sure, Stilinski?"  
"Yes. Let's part ways and let her back to camp. The attack was on her."  
"So, she put you in unnecessary danger?" Bellamy muttered, narrowing his eyes at Lexa as she held a hand up for the grounders behind her to stay their place.  
"She didn't. Let's get back to camp and I'll brief you. I think I have a broken rib."  
"And a bruised eye, a cut on your leg… For fuck's sake, Stiles, Peter's gonna have your ass," Clarke couldn't help a quiet chuckle as she gave Stiles a quick once over, "He's not going to let you leave camp ever again."  
"I would hope that's not true. Your warrior built immense trust today and I have an invaluable amount of respect for him. He was willing to put his life on the line to keep me safe to maintain our peace."  
"We'll discuss your suicidal tendencies later. If you would like," Bellamy looked up to Lexa, holstering his gun and taking a deep breath, "I would still like to have that meeting with your leader."  
"I'm happy to meet with you at a later occasion," Lexa nodded her head, chuckling quietly at Stiles' annoyed huff.  
"Seriously? You're the leader?"  
"I would not trust any of my people to give you the chance you truly deserve, or to make my judgement for me. I had to see this for myself, a Skaikru willing to meet peacefully."  
Stiles chuckled and took the hand Clarke offered to get him to his feet. "Thank you for our talk and your help. I hope you return to your own camp safely," He murmured, offering his hand with a sly smile.  
Lexa clasped their hands and shook his hand once firmly. "Thank you, Skaikru, for your strange greetings and your respect and morals. I look forward to our peace talks."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter specific warnings:**  
>  an overwhelming amount of cuteness

Stiles limped back into camp leaning heavily against Clarke. He barely made it past the main entrance before Peter was on him, squeezing him tight and pressing his face in Stiles' neck. "I hate you. I hate you so much. I hate you, so fucking much. You piece of shit. I was so scared."  
"I missed you, too," Stiles laughed quietly, wrapping his arms around Peter after regaining his balance from the force at which he was hugged.  
"I hate you. God, I hate you," Peter muttered, taking a shaky breath before finally stepping back from their hug. Stiles smiled warmly and squeezed his shoulders before letting Peter support him to the makeshift med bay. Clarke had him sit and quickly dressed his wounds, moving around Peter when he refused to leave Stiles' side.  
"So, you hate me, huh?" Stiles murmured once they were alone, a cool rag against his black eye and his leg bandaged.  
Peter huffed and shifted so Stiles was more comfortable against his body, resting his head against his shoulder. "I do hate you."  
"Because I was heroic and kept the peace?"  
"No. You were unarmed in a forest with unknown enemies and a fucking wild animal hunting you. You could've died," Peter grumbled, tucking his face in the curve of Stiles' neck and letting out a shaky breath. "You're not supposed to fucking do that to me."  
"Why would it be a big deal?" Stiles murmured, wrapping his arms around Peter's shoulders and closing his eyes as he finally relaxed.  
"Because you're not allowed to leave me."  
"Why not?"  
"Because you mean a lot to me," Peter mumbled, lifting his head up to look at Stiles. "A whole lot."  
Stiles swallowed nervously, looking over Peter's face. "I should kiss you, right?"  
"Only if you want to," Peter huffed on a nervous laugh, his cheeks turning red.  
Stiles grinned, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to Peter's lips. "That took us long enough."  
"You're telling me," Bellamy huffed from the doorway. He and Clarke were watching them with knowing smirks. "I'll be back later for my brief. Don't break him any more before I get back."  
Peter huffed and hid his face in the curve of Stiles' neck. "Fuck off, Bellamy."  
"Sure, I will. Have a good night."  
"Change his bandages in a couple hours," Clarke smiled, setting some clean linens down beside Peter before smirking. "And I have to echo what Bellamy said, but seriously. Please don't break him any more."  
Peter groaned and closed his eyes, shaking his head while Stiles chuckled. "Bold of you to assume such a soft top would hurt me."  
"Can everyone leave so I can enjoy the moment?"  
Stiles giggled quietly and kissed Peter's head. Clarke and Bellamy waved at him as they left, sliding the curtain shut.  
They sat in silence for a few moments before Stiles decided to break it. "How long?"  
"Since I saw your stupid face back on the ark."  
"Awh, that's gross," Stiles cooed teasingly before closing his eyes, relaxing against Peter. "Now, be a good boyfriend pillow and let me sleep."  
"You'd have to shut up, first," Peter murmured, kissing Stiles' collarbone before closing his eyes, as well.  
Peace talks could wait for a while, they could cuddle, and if anything happened in between they'd deal with it.


End file.
